


compliance

by Smercy



Category: Elizabeth (Movies)
Genre: Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smercy/pseuds/Smercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Elizabeth does not watch, she commands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	compliance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginalia/gifts).



The Raleighs have a modest home, and Elizabeth does not visit them often. She does, however, visit them, which is extraordinary enough.

They have placed their finest chair at the foot of their bed and Elizabeth sits upon it, perfectly composed as the Raleighs undress. Bess's hair is undone and she does not like the look of it. But to object would be too trifling. Walter's fingers are fumbling at her bodice.

He is always the most nervous, shaking. Bess would be able to undress herself more proficiently, but Elizabeth likes to watch him struggle. He should be practiced by now, but his fingers tremble.

Bess does not look at her, instead placing a reassuring kiss upon her husband's cheek. He turns her body to better showcase it, sliding her shift from her delicate shoulders.

The chair is not uncomfortable. Her view is pleasant enough. They are slow to divest with their clothing. Elizabeth can feel the pulse in her neck, and it is steady.

All of their finery lays carelessly like snowdrifts upon the bed and floor. Elizabeth does not smile, although she is a bit pleased. The Raleighs recline naked upon their bed, still and waiting. Walter grunts, "Well?"

"Kiss her belly," Elizabeth commands. "Hands on her waist. And move the trousers from the bed before you start."

They comply, of course. Bess looks faintly tired, and her skin is much too pallid. Elizabeth watches the long marks on Bess's thighs as her husband works. No, they are in the wrong position. She has only to gesture and Bess resettles them, Walter still nibbling below her breasts.

"Her mouth now," Elizabeth says. She waits until Bess has gone soft with desire, deciding her vision. Elizabeth could have them leave the bed and dance her the Volta, it would not be the first time. But she tires of dancing.

She never tires of control. Elizabeth could have them kiss for a long hour, disallowed from doing anything more; Bess had shivered quite attractively.

Walter's member is at full attention and his face is tight with concentration. To wait, she imagines, must be agony.

"Bess, sit up," she commands. "Your back against the headboard. Sir Raleigh, you will face her and she will sit upon your lap."

"My lady," Bess murmurs, but it does not sound sufficiently grateful.

Elizabeth does not cross her legs, nor does she lean forward. "Inside of her now, Sir Raleigh," she commands.

She supposes that they are not usually as quiet performing their marital duties. Bess bites her lower lip and screws her eyes shut. Her husband rests his head upon her shoulder and thrusts enthusiastically.

Elizabeth can see perfectly just when Bess begins to ache for the proceedings. She waits only a few seconds. "Stop," she says. Walter exhales a strangled groan. "Sir Raleigh, use your mouth on her."

He moves very smoothly down her body, mouth very close to her skin but not touching. Bess's eyes are big and dark, she makes very little noise as he begins his work. Soon, though, she is grasping his head and shaking. Her husband is practiced at this. Her every breath turns to tortured whimper, and quicky she cries aloud with completion.

Elizabeth does smile. "Resume your previous activities," she commands, giving Bess only seconds to recover. Her husband is gentle at first, but impatient. Elizabeth is quiet as she watches, she does not need to interject herself any further. Each move that they make, each cry is for their queen.

Walter's hips begin to snap upwards violently. "Stop," Elizabeth commands. "Your mouth will return to her cunt." He makes a noise not far removed from a curse as he pulls from his wife. Bess's eyes are very dark.

She must be very tender, her husband's beard is coarse and sticky. Just like a man, he begins to attack his wife with his tongue, and Bess's gasps are not unlike pain. "Slower, Sir Raleigh. Be gentle."

He is very swollen, his hips trembling with the exertion of not pushing against the bedsheets. Elizabeth cannot see what his mouth is doing, but she does not need to. Bess's face is vulnerable with pleasure. She climaxes very slowly, and with a sharp cry.

Elizabeth gives Bess nearly two full minutes to recover, watching her husband's control as she waits. Walter looks furious with desire, and that pleases her.

"Resume," Elizabeth says. Walter sinks into his wife with a satisfied groan, and she soon cries out to meet him. Her thighs must be on fire, so intense as to almost hurt. Bess digs her fingernails into her husband's shoulder, pulling him tightly against her.

Bess's eyes are open, and she looks straight ahead to her queen. It is a lovely sight, Walter's back flexing with effort, and his wife clinging to him, barely coherent. Walter must be very close.

"You will climax when I give the order," Elizabeth commands. "And you will beg for permission." He is smart enough to keep all replies to himself. He had once said that she adored control, and was not incorrect.

She waits until Bess is right with him, their thrusts irregular and agonized. They had been in congress for quite a long time.

"Please, Majesty," Walter began to beg. Soon, every word from his mouth turned to pleading. "Please, please." She is inclined to watch him wait. Soon, his wife joins him in chorus. They sound well-matched.

"Now," Elizabeth orders. They are both loud with their compliance. Bess looks as though she has been broken apart, and Walter rolls off of her and almost immediately to sleep, as men do.

Bess's hair had turned to a horrible mess of tangles. Elizabeth stands from her chair, and Bess came with her. This was most likely habit. "You should brush your hair," she says, and it wasn't quite an order. Bess nods. Elizabeth is almost overcome with tenderness. Once Bess finishes, Elizabeth decides to plait Bess's hair. Although out of practice, the end result is straight enough.

She walks to the Raleighs' sitting room, Bess put on a shift and followed behind her. "Will you be staying much longer, My Lady?"

"No," Elizabeth says. She does not sit, nor does she admire herself in the mirror. There was not much to admire, she had not desired to overwhelm with her splendor. She was completely composed. Her wig is in place, simple. Her dress is not wrinkled.

The sun has gone down since they had entered the bedroom, and Elizabeth is touched with melancholy. It was a tragedy that the Raleighs had been so impatient, she would have arranged the marriage herself. And she had intended much better for the Raleighs; but she had also intended for their obedience. This was an old wound, barely painful now.

It was unusual to see Bess so awkward in her own home. Perhaps she missed the noises that her son made. "My lady," Bess said, reaching one hand to her.

Elizabeth narrows her gaze and Bess turns away. To be touched is to be made weak.

"I will be leaving," Elizabeth says. Her carriage waits outside.

"Majesty," Bess courtesies, but her eyes plead. It is obvious that she wishes to know that she is in favor. Elizabeth nearly laughed.

At the end of the night, the Raleighs were just people, same as all others. They rutted like animals, prayed to God, and ached for the favor of their Queen.

"I wish good health to your son," says Elizabeth. She leaves with no flourish.

England presses heavy on her gut.


End file.
